


Exchange

by Satine86



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blood Loss, Gen, M/M, Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 15:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2856059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am the Inquisitor, I have resources at my disposal... I want him back!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exchange

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Korinwae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Korinwae/gifts).



“I am the Inquisitor, I have resources at my disposal... I want him back!” Ismat roared and slammed his fist down on the potions bench, rattling the bottles. Cassandra flinched at the outburst, eyes closing briefly. The entire camp was deathly quiet, save Ismat's harsh breathing.

“You know it's not that easy. We don't have the forces to take them on now, it would be a massacre. I think meeting with them is our best bet--”

“How can giving into their demands be our best bet!?” Ismat yelled, his anger and worry practically rolling off him in waves. “I refuse!”

“Inquisitor, I don't think we have much of a choice. I want Dorian back as much as--”

“Don't.” Ismat turned on her with fire in his eyes. “Don't you even dare say it. He is _my_ husband and he's in danger because of it. You know nothing about what I want!” 

“I'm sorry, I meant no harm. I only meant that Dorian has become my friend, I wish him returned to us safe and sound as well.” 

Ismat's shoulders slumped a bit, and he sent the Seeker an apologetic smile. “I'm sorry, Cassandra. I shouldn't take it out on you.”

“It's fine, I understand. It's an emotional time, which is also why I think you should at least hear me out.” 

“Alright, explain.” 

“By meeting with them tomorrow morning, we can use that to our advantage. We can survey them. And in a best case scenario, we'll find a way to overtake them and get Dorian back safely. Worst case, we're stalling and giving our reinforcements time to get here.”

“Fine, we'll meet them.” He sighed and scrubbed both hands down his face. It was his fault. His fault that they were out there, that Dorian was with them, and it was his fault they took him. What better bargaining chip against the great Inquisitor, than the love of his life? 

Cassandra stood, hesitant, before she placed a warm hand on his arm. “It will be alright, Ismat. We'll save him.” 

“I hope you're right,” he mumbled to her and turned to stagger into his tent. His empty tent. He felt sick to his stomach, and he was sure he would've retched if not for the lump of worry in his throat. He stretched out on his bedroll, grabbed one of Dorian's spare cloaks that still smelled of him and prayed that he was still alive. 

 

* * *

 

It was dark, it was always dark. His head pounded like someone was trying to hammer their way out. Everything was rough, harsh and cold. He could barely keep his eyes open long enough to make out a stone wall... a prison? Then it was dark again and he just wanted to sleep or pass out or die.. anything to stop the pain. 

Time meant little in the gloom that surrounded him. It could've been seconds or years, he wasn't sure and he didn't really care. 

“Drink up,” a voice said and he felt something knock against his teeth. A cup? He thought that's what they were called. Water, but it tasted wrong, bitter and metallic. Still he drank what he could, his lips were dry, cracked, and the water helped a little. 

There were voices, they were rough and cold too, and he wanted nothing more than for them to shut up. Just to be quiet until the pounding stopped. Though he was sure the pounding at his temples would never end. 

Words floated through his mind, muddled and hazy like wisps in the Fallow Mire, but some stuck. Some he understood: Inquisitor. Trade. Ritual. Power. 

No. No he would not let that happen. He would not. If he could just move, open his eyes. If he could speak, recite a spell and let the magic flow through him. Only he couldn't, because it was dark. So dark and his head pounded.

It seemed only a moment had passed when it felt like he was moving, how or where he couldn't tell. It was lighter though, the morning sun in the distance made the pounding worse and he shut his eyes tight against it. 

“I want to see him first!” The voice was loud, booming, and full of authority. It was Ismat's voice. He wanted so badly to open his eyes, but it hurt. Everything hurt.

Something above him shifted, the light was brighter. “Dorian,” he heard Ismat gasp. 

“As you can see, he is unharmed.”

“What have you done to him?” 

“We've only kept him... sedated.” 

“What are your terms?” That was Cassandra. That was good, he was sure that was good. 

“A simple trade. Master Pavus for the Inquisitor.” 

This was greeted with silence and Dorian ventured to open his eyes a fraction, to see what was happening. However, a guard stood in front of him, blocking the scene. He shut his eyes again, the pain worse than ever. 

“Alright, you have a deal. But I want to speak with him first.” 

“As you wish, Inquisitor.” 

No. No that was not right. No, he would not allow it. Dorian struggled to open his eyes again, even more so when he felt a warm hand on his cheek. 

“Dorian, are you alright?” Ismat's voice was soft, tender, like the hand on his cheek. 

“It hurts,” he moaned, finally managing to meet Ismat's gaze.

“It will stop now. I promise.” 

“You can't. They'll hurt you. You can't,” he repeated feebly. 

“Too late.” Ismat gave a weak laugh and bent forward to press his lips against Dorian's forehead. “I love you.” 

“Ismat wai--” but he was already standing. Letting his captures shackle his hands. “I love you, too.” 

Ismat smiled before he was yanked away by the kidnappers, then Cassandra and Varric were there, trying to hoist him up and return him to their camp. 

 

* * * 

It was evening when Dorian was lucid again, the drugs having worked their way out of his system. He woke in an instant, the full realization of what had happened hitting him like a bolt of lighting. He stumbled out of his tent to find the others. 

They were huddled around the camp fire, pouring over a map with a scout hovering nearby. 

“What is happening?” 

“Dorian, you're awake.” Cassandra's shoulders sagged slightly, relived. “That's good. Bull sent this scout ahead. He and the troops will be arriving soon. We're working on a plan to get Ismat back.”

“We have to hurry. I don't know what they're planning, but it's a ritual of some kind. I know that much.” His mind was spinning, did they want to harness power? They couldn't use the anchor, that was long gone. Perhaps they thought he had residual power from it? Or perhaps they were just insane and wanted him to suffer? 

“We will, as soon as Iron Bull gets here.” 

“They could be killing him right now!” Dorian yelled. “How could you let him do that!? Give himself up for me? He's the Inquisitor, the figurehead! He's far more important I am!” 

Cassandra bristled slightly, but paused and took in a deep breath through her nose to calm herself. “Do you honestly believe I could have stopped him? He would do anything for you, Dorian.” 

“I know. That's why this is so hard.” He scrubbed at his face, hoping to relieve some of the burning behind his eyes. 

“We'll save him, Dorian.” Cassandra's voice was fierce, full of determination. He wanted to believe her. So badly. 

* * *

 

The fortress the kidnappers – a sect of Venatori – had taken over was heavily guarded by mercenaries and mages, and well fortified. Laying siege against it was a brutal battle, but the forces of the Inquisition were strong and by the time dawn broke they had taken it for their own. 

Dorian had been on the front lines with Bull and Cassandra and Varric, blasting spells and burning any Venatori that dared get close enough. He showed no mercy as a certain blood lust overcame him, all he wanted was for them to suffer. 

They had to fight through endless rooms, all the while searching for Ismat. It wasn't until the victory horn sounded, the last of the Venatori dead or chained, that they discovered him. He had been restrained like a beast, the heavy chains crisscrossing his body, locking his arms and legs in place so he could not free himself. 

Ceremonial knives had been laid out on a table like an artist might set out their brushes. But now they were covered in blood. Dorian's had to swallow down bile at the sight of the blood, Ismat's blood, all over the room.

Lashes and slices covered his torso, his head drooped down to his chest. Dorian rushed forward, yanking at the chains, trying to free him.

“Help me get him down,” he called, his voice barely recognizable to his own ears, his words catching in his throat. Iron Bull was there, Varric close behind, picking the locks. 

Dorian grabbed Ismat's face, trying to wake him. “Amatus? It's me, we're here. You're safe.” 

When the last lock on the chains popped, and the restraints keeping Ismat up were gone, Iron Bull gently guided him to the floor. Dorian was by his side in an instant, brushing his hands down Ismat's face. He only vaguely noted the fact he was cold. 

“Amatus?” he called, his voice rising in desperation, cracking on the word. “Ismat. Wake up.” Then he was pulling healing potions from his belt and forcing them to Ismat's lips, encouraging him to drink. Praying he would drink. 

“Dorian,” Bull's voice sounded thick, as if speaking were a great struggle. “Dorian, h-he's gone.” 

“No. He just needs to drink it. He needs more, one isn't enough.” He looked up at the others, wondering how long he had been kneeling on the floor. Varric had turned his back, his head bent as he leaned against the wall. Bull's face was soft, his eyes swimming. And Cassandra's nose was pink, her cheeks damp.

“We were too late.” 

“NO!” Dorian roared. “There's something. I can do something.” He pressed his fists to his temples, rocking as he thought. There was something, he knew there had to be. His mind raced over spells and enchantments, anything he might've read about in the past.

“There's a spell. I can do something. I can, I know I can. I need a knife.” He looked up at Bull. “I need knife, right now!” 

“Dorian, what are you--?”

“I know a spell. It's old, but it will work. I just need some blood, and I need a knife. Just please hand me one of the knives?” 

“It's too late, Dorian.” Cassandra spoke firmly, like she would a petulant child, but her face looked like she crumble any moment. “We can't bring him back.” 

“I can! I WILL!” he cried, voice shaking. “What good are all these spells if I can't help him!?” 

He made a move for one of the knives but Bull stopped him, pinning his arms to his side. “You can't,” he rumbled. “You can't save him.”

“Yes, I can!” Dorian tried to fight, but there was no way to overpower Iron Bull. He struggled in vain for a moment, wanting nothing more than to save Ismat. But a small part of him knew it wasn't possible. It was never possible. 

He glanced toward his husband's prone form; Cassandra knelt by his side, using her overcoat to cover his face, hoping to offer some peace. Dorian stopped fighting against Bull, his shoulders sagging as he finally broke down, sobs wracking his entire body, anguished wails filling the room. 

 

* * * 

 

Riding back to Skyhold, Dorian felt numb. Hollowed out and empty. He hadn't uttered a single word since they had left the Fortress, despite everyone's attempts. Nor did he really eat, only taking a few bites when offered something to appease his friends.

He felt a lump in his throat as they passed under Skyhold's portcullis, and a weight now settled inside his chest, making breathing difficult. He did not want to be there. It reminded him too much of Ismat. But he had to... he needed to be there. 

“PAPA!” Kamea screamed from the steps leading to the main hall. She had been standing with Leliana, who tried to catch her, but Kamea was quicker, racing down the steps to greet everyone. Dorian felt his resolve crumble into pieces, and he swallowed the knot in his throat, glancing toward the sky to keep from crying. 

Sliding off his horse, his legs nearly gave out from under him. He let go of the reins and slid to the ground, as if all the bones in his body were gone. Kamea jumped into his arms, wrapping tiny arms around his neck and squeezing tight. He buried his face in her hair and held her, still fighting his tears. 

She pulled back, a wide smile dimpling her cheeks, eyes aglow. “I missed you, papa!” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and then started looking around. 

“Where's daddy?” she asked, head tilted to one side. 

The tears he had been fighting finally spilled, his vision blurring until he could no longer make her out clearly. He crushed Kamea to him, tucking her head under his chin. 

“Oh, my precious girl,” he whispered, failing to keep his voice from shaking. “Daddy isn't coming home.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you've been reading any of the "Adaar Family Adventures" featuring Ismat, Dorian, and Kamea.... I am very happy to inform that this is NOT canon for them.
> 
> But you see my dear friend (owner of Ismat) often sends me really sad scenarios and headcanons on tumblr. However, she crossed a line, the gauntlet was thrown, and this was born. ;)


End file.
